A Toast To The Night
by chateaudyquem
Summary: Lucy Harris looks up to find a dark stranger at her doorstep and is given her first lesson in passion, pleasure, and pain, ultimately turning to The Good Doctor for assistance. A Jekyll and Hyde fanfic, for mature readers only.


"G'night everyone! I love you!"

I fluttered my left hand at the audience, pressing my right to my bosom and half-bowing, half-curtseying with a practised gesture that bespoke false modesty. My smile was wide, brilliant, and equally practised.

"Lucy 'arris, gentlemen! Give 'er a good send-off!" My sister Nell, proprietress, had to shout in order to make herself heard over the roar of the crowd. The men were stomping and clapping, raising their glasses and waving their hats. The crudest language often came from the most well-dressed folk in the house, something that never failed to amuse me.

Instead of going back out amongst the masses as I normally did after a performance, I retreated to my room, trying to unlace my boots whilst going up the stairs, two activities which did not go well together.

"Lucy! Lucy!" The shouts followed me up through the floorboards. I paused, my hand on the doorknob, the key playing between my fingers, listening to the din. On any other night my sister would have been at the foot of the stairs, haggling over price with a handful of 'gentlemen' and after having struck the bargain that suited her best, would send him up to my room. There would be the customary two taps at the door, I would whisper "come in" and then the ancient dance of the world's oldest profession would commence.

But not tonight. Tonight was my night off, something rare – nigh unheard of, really – in our business. Since Nell had taken over the job of running the establishment (after our pimp, nicknamed 'The Spider,' had mysteriously disappeared not too long ago, though we girls all thought privately that the river had claimed him at last – at least we hoped it had) we'd a more liberal feeling in the house, and if we had earned enough to keep us and to spare for the month we would sometimes be let off for a night to spend all to ourselves.

I had taken the liberty of drawing enough water for a bath before going down to the show, and I was glad of it now, though at the time it had made my shoulders ache with the hauling. I stripped naked and stepped into it, taking it up with a big sponge and letting it run down, feeling as if all the dirt and the grime were being washed from my soul as well as my body. I did my hair too, soaping it with a scrap of French stuff that Marie had given me after she came back from the Continent (her real name was Mary Jean and she hailed from Ireland, but after her trip across the Channel she began to give herself airs and started calling herself 'Marie Jeanette' which we all thought was a bit peculiar, and I have no doubt she would have found a way to alter her family name too, if 'Kelly' would have translated into anything fancy).

My bath completed, I wrapped myself in a rough towel, one of the two that I owned, and tossed the bathwater out the open window into the court below. A fire would have been nice, to dry my hair, but even though it was late October and damp at that, I had not laid by any coal and so must remain chilly. It wasn't all that bad, really, once I had put on my shift. It was so pleasant to be free of the cumbersome undergarments that I usually wore to bed, the taffeta affairs trimmed with lace and velvet. This shift was soft, a thick flannel that had been washed so many times as to feel like heaven against the flesh, and though the neck was wide and deep in both front and back, the sleeves were down to my forearms and kept me quite comfortable.

I sat at my little table, which I like to call my desk because I do write at my journal whilst sitting there, next to the lamp, and examined my face in the mirror as I pulled the wooden pick through my snarls. My skin was white, as was the fashion amongst the rich, though I needed no arsenic to keep it so. My hair was dark and fell to my waist in leisurely curls. _I am not so ugly_, I thought to myself, and then I realised that indeed I could not be, for that could be judged simply by the queue at the bottom of the stair each night.

My hair now in order, I brought out my little book and penny bottle of ink. The pen I kept hidden in a crack between the floorboards under my feet as while it was not a very expensive thing no doubt an enterprising person might think to sell it. The journal opened naturally to where I had last writ, the place marked with a stiff rectangle of the finest paper engraved with the name of a true gentleman with an address to match.

_Doctor Henry A. Jekyll_

_MD, DCL, LLD, FRS_

_46 Harley Street, London_

I ran my fingers over the smooth, heavy paper and felt the relief of the engraving and tried to imagine what it might be like to live in such a grand place, even as a servant, with a master such as he. I turned to my writing with a heave and a sigh, but I was in no mood to write further. Instead I immersed myself in my latest entry wherein I recorded my meeting with this singular gentleman.

I heard a cry, faint but run through with terror so it seemed, and after a moment decided to pay no mind to it. Oftentimes one hears such cries in such as place as this, for our 'clients' do like all manner of encounters and every girl has had a man that treated her rough at one point or another. The cry came again and this time I was sure enough that it was my sister's voice, though I made no move to even see what it was about, much less offer any assistance.

You may think me to be hard hearted when I speak of my sister thus, but truth be told she is less a sister now and more a pimp, the same as 'The Spider' ever was though not as harsh by halves. The bad feelings between us had started when we were girls, both sold into this sorry business, but I having more success because of my looks and so she had to resign herself to being Lucy's Sister. Now she was in a position of power over me and she never once let me forget it, though she wasn't ever angry or cruel outright.

Footsteps climbed the stair, a regular step that wasn't so much heavy as determined, and then turned down the hall. I perked up at this, my heart thudding in my chest. _He is going to stop at my door_, I thought, though how I knew that I couldn't tell you, for I was to see no one that evening as I have already said.

There was a soft noise – a scrap of newsprint slipped under the door. I turned round and stared at it dumbly, my throat dry and the blood rushing in my ears so loud it was a miracle I could hear anything at all. There was a jangling noise too – keys on a ring – and in a moment my own key, which I had foolishly left in the door after having locked it behind me when I first came in, was pushed out of the hole from the outside and finally fell onto the floor. Key and paper were pulled through the crack quickly, all of a piece, and before I knew it I heard the click of the lock and a man stood on my threshold, his dark eyes freezing me to the spot.

"Sir," I began in the best indignant tones I could muster. He slammed the door so hard as it made the walls shake and turned the key, then slipped it into his own pocket.

"Lucy…" he growled, low in his throat, a sound which made the very hairs on my head stand up. I rose from my chair as slow as possible, never taking my eyes off him.

"Sir," I said again, this time with a trembling voice, "you must leave immediately." My words sounded hollow and ineffectual, which in fact they were, for he laughed again low in his throat and I felt real fear.

"I'll leave when I please." He advanced towards me, into the circle of light from my poor little lamp, and for the first time I got a real good look at him.

He was not as tall as most men, and while his shoulders were not broad they showed strength even through his shirt. He wore trousers striped through with silver, as was the fashion, but they seemed too large for him as they hung about his hipbones and puddled round his shoes. He wore no waistcoat or jacket, and his cuffs and collar were both undone, showing his throat and his powerful forearms. He wore a cloak with slashes of astrakhan and carried a stick tipped in silver with a greyhound's head atop it. He had a top hat too, an expensive looking affair which was incongruous with the rest of him. His hair was longer than was fashionable, dark and coarse and curly as mine is. I smiled as I looked him over, thinking that no matter how fine a man's clothes may be, his beginnings are always written all over his features and he cannot run from them, no matter how hard he may try.

"Lucy…" He kept his eyes on me too, even as he unfastened his cloak and dropped it onto my now-vacant chair and laid his cane and hat by also. He glanced quickly at the open book on the table and picked up the doctor's card.

"Dr Henry A Jekyll," he read aloud in a mocking tone. "Do you often entertain clients such as these?"

"He isn't a client. A friend."

"Friend! Indeed. You must be very fortunate to have such important friends. I can think of no other girl who is so lucky." He made as if to tear the card in two, and I made to stop him with a gesture. The smile he gave me showed he had read the fear in my face and I knew then I had made a grievous error. He knew I was frightened and now could use that to his advantage.

"Leave now or I shall raise the alarm," I said, but the threat was a weak one and he knew it. He had already gotten past my sister, which explained the cry I heard earlier, and there was no one else to protect us. Oh, how I wished for a weapon, any manner of one!

"I do not think you will." He saw I was about to run for the door and caught me at the shoulders with both hands, his thumbs digging into the little hollows under my collarbones and gripping me so hard I nearly cried out for the pain. He forced me to my knees and that old fear welled up in me. I had thought I was long past encounters such as these but it seemed I should not have counted myself so lucky.

My hair was still hanging free and he caught me by the length of it, twisting it round his fist so my head was held fast. I could not help but notice the state of his arousal and he gave a low, sick laugh.

"No, not that. Not yet." He pulled me to my feet, hand still in my hair, and tears began to form at the corner of my eyes for it seemed my entire scalp was on fire.

One arm came round under my knees and before I knew quite what was happening my feet were swept out from under me and I was being carried to the bed. I started to struggle then, really struggle, unmindful of my hair though it felt as if it were being ripped out by the roots. He laid me on my back in an oddly gentle manner despite his death-grip on my hair and leant his full weight upon me, rotating his hips slow, slow, grinding his erection against me, his lips moist and soft just below my ear, causing me to shudder uncontrollably in spite of myself.

"You haven't known pleasure, I'll wager," he whispered with the barest flick of his tongue on the delicate inner shell of my ear. His breath touched the wetness there and I shivered as if I were naked on this cold autumn night.

"Sir?" I managed to choke out.

"No, you haven't. For all your experience." His lips traveled along the curve of my jaw and as I opened my mouth to catch my breath, which was now coming in slow shallow gasps, he plunged his tongue into me and I wrapped my lips around it. His mouth moved expertly on mine. I found my hands were free and for all my good intention to push him off me, I could only wrap my arms round his neck and bring him down further. The movement of his hips and tongue warmed a place in me that had felt such warmth but rarely, only once or twice in my whole life, and I began to lift my own hips in rhythm with his own. His free hand traveled first to my breast, brushing the nipple lightly through the fabric, then lower to lift the hem and run his fingers down over my ribcage to the triangle of hair between my thighs. This he also touched lightly, barely grazing the skin, and I felt myself grow wet as has hardly ever happened before.

We parted at last, breathing hard, and to my surprise he put his fingers to his mouth, seeming to savour the taste. Then he was off me, as quick as you please, letting go my hair, his arms around my hips, dragging me to the side of the bed so my legs dangled over like a child's. He knelt between my knees, and when I tried to sit up and look at him he only pushed me flat again, squeezing my breast rather hard and opening my legs with his other hand.

"I knew it," he muttered, inhaling so long and deep I could hear it clearly as if he were at my ear again. "Oh Lucy, you will rue this night."

_What? _I wondered, nearly aloud, and then all thought was driven from me as he put his fingers to my cunt and spread me wide. The cool air shocked me but I was quickly warmed as his fingers began to trace circles there, first gently, then more forcefully, and then back to gentle in an inconsistent pattern which was driving me fair mad. At last his hand touched upon a bit of flesh and gathering up my wetness he began to glide over it, sometimes rubbing it between his fingers. His other hand left off my breast and I felt him probe inside me, first with one finger, then two and three, moving in and out in time with his hand on my clit.

I started to moan, the sound drawn from my throat against my will. I was sweating now, my hands twisting the sheets, desperately trying to think of something, anything to distract me, but I could not. I closed my eyes and saw his immense erection as I knelt before him, my fingers deftly unbuttoning his trousers and reaching in to draw out –

My thoughts were interrupted by a new feeling, and I raised myself up a little to see his face buried between my legs. His lips and tongue had replaced his fingers; I could feel that powerful muscle licking hard and fast, his lips sucking and his teeth grazing the flesh, his fingers still pumping in and out of me in perfect rhythm. I tangled my own fingers in his hair, pressing his face into me hard as I ground up against him.

I came unexpectedly, biting my lips to keep from screaming. He covered me again, first sucking at his fingers and then wiping his mouth. He kissed me again, deeply, and I tasted myself for the first time, all musky and sweet. He put his arms around me and rolled me over so I lay on top of him. I pressed my mouth to his and he forced his tongue into me again and I sucked it gently, tantalising him.

"Now," he commanded, and with pressure on my shoulders he directed me down, down. My fingers fumbled with the buttons on his trousers but I soon had them undone. His cock was large for a man his size and stature, but I only had a moment to look at it for he put his hand on the back of my head and directed my mouth to it.

I licked my lips until they shone with moisture and then drew it into my mouth, sucking first gently and then more strongly, just as he had done to me. The moans issuing from his own throat spurred me on, and I sank down until he touched the back of my throat. I swallowed, the muscles of my mouth and throat massaging him. Up and down, my hands working in time with my lips and tongue, until he pulled me away by the hair and growled "enough."

He rolled me over again and then I knew real fear once more, for a knife had appeared in his left hand, the blade glittering in the low light. A hand over my mouth, my hands pinned to my sides by his knees, and he slipped the cold blade between my breasts and slit the fabric of my shift in one clean pull. He laid the knife aside and ripped it down the rest of the way with his hands, then cast my poor shift away. He kicked off his boots and trousers, then pulled his shirt over his head and stood before me naked. My breath came in hitches and stops and my cunt throbbed; I wanted him.

He covered me again, his body barely brushing mine. I spread my legs shamelessly, my hand coming down to find him, to guide him into me. He paused at the entrance, waiting, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Tell me what you want."

"I…I can't think," I stuttered.

"Tell me exactly, or I shall give you nothing."

I am accustomed to bawdy talk, as many a client does like that sort of thing, but at the moment I could think of nothing except for the truth.

"Fuck me," I breathed, and then he drove inside me, hard, his arm coming behind my shoulders, lifting me towards him, his cock rubbing against my clit and driving all reason from me. He was hard and relentless and fast. He closed his eyes and threw his head back just as I did, feeling the heat, fueling the act.

We both began to cry out as we neared the end, and just as my cunt was beginning to jerk and spasm, sending waves of pleasure through me so strong I thought I might die of it, he sank his teeth into my neck and clamped his jaws together so hard I wondered if he had broken the skin. I screamed this time, both for the pain and having just come. He still did not loose his grip on me, though I had finished, and I realised he had not yet spent. He sucked at my neck through clenched teeth and rode me even harder until I came again, still screaming. He finished a moment later, and I felt the gush of him inside me. Only then did he let me go.

I lay there, unable to move, the pain mingling with the pleasure of the moment and thoroughly confusing me. I rubbed at my neck and the hurt of it registered not there, but where his hands and mouth and cock had been. I continued playing with the marks there, feeling the delicious tremor for some time before I noticed he had sat up and was looking at me.

"Who are you?" I managed to say. He leant forward until his mouth was near my ear again, and I closed my eyes again to better feel the sensation.

"Hyde. Edward Hyde. You'd best not forget it, my girl. You're mine."

"Yours?" I turned to look at him, my face inches from his, half-laughing. "I belong to no one."

"Oh no," he growled, and his tone instantly sobered me. "I've bought you. You'll see only me from now on. And if you decided to be an enterprising little bitch and try to earn something on the side, don't think for a moment I won't find out." He rolled me onto my front and laid himself directly on top of me, and I could feel his cock slide in between my thighs.

"How … how am I to be yours only? I have to eat and pay for my lodging. I can't do that without … work." I trailed off.

"I'll pay, my dear. I'll pay for your fidelity and all the time with you I may require." I again spread my legs involuntarily and he pushed inside me, thrusting with maddening slowness.

"Your hand, here." He took my right hand and slid it beneath me, down to my belly and beyond. "Touch yourself." I slid my fingers over my clit and began to frig myself as he started to thrust harder and harder. I felt the orgasm beginning almost as soon as we'd begun.

He held my left arm under my chin, to keep my head up so I could breathe. I didn't realise I had lost all mobility until I felt the knife slice my left shoulder.

It cut with a precise slowness and I couldn't see for the pain. He cut line after line, carefully, and still he fucked me relentlessly. The blinding, burning feeling did not stop me from coming; if anything it enhanced it, and as the waves washed over me I was begging for him to push deeper, though whether with his cock or the knife I couldn't say.

I was sobbing into the coverlet when he rolled off me, my shoulder and neck on fire. I could feel the blood rolling down my front, I could hear him getting dressed as leisurely as if he were in his own bedroom.

"You belong to me, Elise," his voice an insidious murmur. "You're not likely to forget that, now, are you?"

"No," I said, or tried to say. Instead I nodded my head, unable to move.

"Good." He planted a kiss on my bleeding shoulder, no doubt smearing his lips with blood. Then I heard him take his effects. The door opened and shut. It was not until later that I realised he had taken the key with him.

I gathered myself up after resting a moment and went straight to the mirror. My eyes were bright, my hair wild, fluids streaming down my thighs, my legs still quivering. The bite on my neck was crimson, the teeth marks purple against my fair skin. I turned round, fearful of what I might see, and looked over my shoulder, and realised why he had cut with such cool deliberance.

Two letters.

_EH_

The blood ran down and I had to grasp the back of my chair for support.

"Oh Lord," I said, looking at the crimson stains on my fingers.

My eyes feel on the card, now crumpled, lying on my desk precisely where Mr Edward Hyde had left it.

_46 Harley Street, London_

"_If any time – you never know – you need a friend…_"

"A friend," I echoed, clapping my towel to my shoulder.

After a quarter hour's toil I somehow managed to look presentable. My shoulder and neck still pained me greatly, and though it was near four o'clock in the morning I tucked the card in my bosom and began the long walk to Westminster.


End file.
